I'll Wait for You
by Bran.14
Summary: Sherlock and John are just going about their normal lives; Sherlock solves crimes and John blogs about. But when John is called away to an international diaster for his doctor skills, how will Sherlock cope without him? Slash, angst, possibe lemons.


**Author's Note: Hey, guys! I am trying to write a long Sherlock/John fic, so here is chapter 1 :) I hope you enjoy it! Not much to say as the moment... Have fun and please review!**

**Disclaimer: Not mien.**

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><p>Sherlock hadn't slept the whole night. That was normal, though and wasn't what was bothering him. The flat was still, John fast asleep and he was bored. Absolutely bored. But then abruptly, as if by telepathy, his phone rang. Lestrade's number flashed on the screen.<p>

"Case?" He answered.

"Been a murder a few blocks down from your street; only a quick run. Do you think you could make it?" Lestrade didn't seem enthused about this case.

"Is Anderson there?"

"No,"

"I'm on my way. Text me the address while I go and get John,"

Sherlock was getting excited; there was finally something to do. He shot out of his armchair and went to wake up John. Better yet, he would see if he could dress him without waking him up. So Sherlock carefully opened and closed the door to their bedroom, so not to make a single sound over fear of waking the doctor. John looked so peaceful when he slept. He always had a slight grin on his face. His knees were tucked up to his chest, an arm was under the pillow his head was resting on and the other arm on top of the quilt by his side. In fact he looked so peaceful that Sherlock almost didn't want to disturb him. But he then remembered there was a murder at hand and opened the wardrobe. Sherlock decided on blue jeans, a white shirt, a grey sweater and the same black jacket he always wore out. He had to feel a little proud of how well he had chosen John's clothes, given the fact that before their relationship had formed he knew nothing about his dress sense.

Sherlock smiled as he began to reminisce of when he first met his boyfriend. John had introduced himself as an army doctor and that he had been retired for a few years. Sherlock remembered surprising himself when a feeling of adoration had spread through him at the thought of John attending to soldier's wounds and taking care of people.

Coming back to reality, Sherlock reminded himself that he was supposed to be dressing John. He thought that leaving the doctor's underwear from the previous day would be a good idea so that he didn't get aroused. Getting the pants off and on was an easy enough task, but the shirt and sweater proved themselves to be a lot more difficult. He rolled John over to lie on his back and unbuttoned his pyjama shirt. Rolling him back over onto his stomach, Sherlock then somehow quite successfully managed to remove John's pyjama top without disturbing him too much.

At that thought, John stirred and rolled back over. Sherlock froze, not wanting to wake up his sleeping beauty. When they both settled again, Sherlock placed John's arms above his head and pulled them through the holes of the shirt, buttoning it up. He then applied the same method with the sweater, being as gentle as he could. He observed that John was now awakening. Writing a swift note instructing John to meet him downstairs, he then placed it upon the doctor's chest and nimbly bounded out of the room.

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><p>When John woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was fully dressed and frowned. He could have sworn that he had put on his pyjamas the night before… Then he spotted the note sitting neatly on top of his chest.<p>

"Come down stairs; it's urgent," John mumbled sleepily to himself.

Straight away he knew it was Sherlock and considering the things he was usually getting up to, he assumed that it wasn't that important. With a sigh, John pulled himself out of bed and lazily walked down the stairs, making thumping noises as he did so.

In the living room, Sherlock was waiting for him at the door. "Fancy a run?"

"Why would I want to go on a run with you at this time of the morning?"

"Because you wouldn't know what to do without me if I went by myself," Sherlock grinned.

John cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Oh really?"

"Come on,"

They both rushed out the door with John following Sherlock as he still had no idea where they were going. Just up the road, John could see police tape and paparazzi and assumed that was where they were headed. He saw Sherlock present what he assumed was a fake or stolen police badge to the officers standing around the yellow tape. He could see Lestrade standing among the photography crew and other co-workers. There was no body visible, the crime scene tape simply surrounding the house where the murder apparently occurred.

"We have a suspected murder," Lestrade walked over, "Several gunshots to the stomach. I'll leave you two to get the rest of the details."

"Sorry to disappoint you Lestrade, but this isn't a murder," Sherlock said blatantly, "It's a suicide. She has scratched 'good riddance' into the floor with her left hand and is holding the gun with it. Every detail of her house screams she is left handed. All of her appliances are plugged into the left socket. The left side of her bed is unmade, which shows that she sleeps on the left hand side. The two words on the floor obviously state that she hated her life. A common cause of suicide is mental illnesses and in the local newspaper there is an article stating that a patient had escaped from the mental institute of London only yesterday night. Shall I go on?"

"Uh no, no I think you've got it covered," John stared in fascination.

Sherlock smirked smugly. "Hungry?"

John watched Sherlock give Lestrade a brief nod and then walk back down the street, turning back a little to encourage him to follow. John jogged after him.

"Where are we going for breakfast Sherlock?"

"How about 'Anacarpi'?"

"Sounds good,"

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><p>The two men had spent the rest of the day in each other's company, simply doing whatever they pleased, which often included a damn good shag.<p>

Now they were sprawled out together on the couch, watching a movie that prime time television had provided for them. Neither knew what the movie was about, but nor did they care. Sherlock was nestled beside John, his head resting gently on the doctor's chest. He felt him wrap his arms around his torso and clasp their hands together. Just as Sherlock was thinking how utterly relaxed he was being this close to John, a news update interrupted the movie.

"There has been breaking news in New Zealand," An anchor man announced blandly. "A major earthquake has struck and measured at 9.8 on the Richter scale. Hundreds of people were killed and thousands more are severely injured. Buildings have collapsed crushing many and experts are being flown over to help out.

An arrangement has been made with the Prime Minister of New Zealand and the leaders of all other countries that any retired army personnel between the ages of 20 and 50 have been ordered to pack their essential belongings and catch a direct flight to New Zealand immediately.

If anyone refuses to obey this order then they shall be sought out and sent to jail. Government officials have stated that trying to avoid going is useless as they withhold all records of previous army members. Army doctors will be the most wanted and useful during this time.

I'm Kerry Hopwood and that was tonight's news update. Thank you and goodnight."


End file.
